Why I didn’t walk out the door and leave her to it fuck only knows. I’m now standing staring at the collage of tattoo images I’ve done that are pinned to my wall as the sound of her rustling through her bags behind me fills my ears.
I was pissed off when I fell into my bed last night wondering if she’d fallen straight into hers with Titch, I really didn’t need her to be late and then to turn up like she’d just had afternoon tea with fucking royalty. The dress is hot, don’t get me wrong. It’s the perfect tease with its slightly too low neckline revealing the swell of her tits, and the way it skims across her arse. I bite down on the inside of my cheek in an attempt to stop me turning around to find out just how sweet that arse really is.
I only last a few seconds. Resting my palms on the counter in front of me, my need to watch her becomes unbearable and I turn my head so I can see over my shoulder. She’s too focused on what she’s doing—pulling something on under her dress—for her to notice my attention, so I make the most of it.
She drops the fabric back down, covering whatever it was she put on before, blowing out a breath and reaching for the zip at the back of her dress.
She pulls it down painfully slowly. If she knew I was watching, I’d say she was doing it on purpose, but she’s yet to look up at me.
The thin straps slip from her shoulders before the fabric pools at the floor around her feet. The sight of her standing in just a white lace bra has my breath catching and my cock even harder than before. My fingers curl into the wood beneath them as I fight to stay where I am and not go over and put my hands on her where they belong.
My teeth grind as I remember just how her curves felt last night beneath my hands. How her body moved with my every touch, begging for more.
A growl climbs up my throat, but I manage to catch it before it erupts.
Tabitha pulls a shirt from her bag and lifts her arms to pull it over her head.
“Wait,” I say, turning, my long legs eating up the space between us as I move towards her.
She quickly tugs the fabric down her body, but it’s too late. I’ve already seen it.
Sucking in a breath when I’m in touching distance, she drags her bottom lip into her mouth and waits.
My eyes search hers, expecting her to say something, but instead she holds mine, her head tilted a little to the side in defiance.
Reaching out, I tuck my finger under the hem of her shirt and lift. My fingertip grazes the soft skin of her belly as I do so, eliciting a gasp from her.
I keep my eyes on hers, waiting for her to back away, to tell me to stop, but she doesn’t.
Once I know the fabric is high enough, I lower my gaze to the ink that covers her right rib.
“Well, well, well… The princess has been marked.” I run my finger over the delicate feather, delighting in the feeling of her body trembling under my touch. I’m halfway along before I pay enough attention for it to become recognisable. Hardly anyone else would notice, I’m sure. But I know my artists, and I sure as shit know my best friend.
“Motherfucker.”
Standing to full height, I push past her and rip the door open.
Titch’s door slams back against the wall, causing both him and his client to look up, their eyes wide in shock and their mouths hanging agape. I use their surprise to my advantage. Marching over, I take his still buzzing gun from his hand and pull him from his stool. His back slams against the wall with a thud and I pin him in place with his shirt. The fury raging through me is the one thing I can focus on, the image in my mind of his hands on what’s mine too much to bare.
“Zach, what the fuck?”
“You put your motherfucking hands on her?”
“On… who?” He glances over my shoulder, his brows drawing together in confusion as, I assume, he stares at Tabitha. “What the fuck is going on?”
“Zach, leave it.” Her soft voice just about manages to filter through my haze seconds before her warm hand lands on my forearm. The shock of her touch is enough to have me backing away from Titch.
“Fuck,” I bark, risking a glance up at her. What the fuck did I just do?
“Talk. Now,” Titch demands while I stand there with my chest heaving and my fingers curled into tight fists. He might be my best friend, but that doesn’t mean I won’t hit him.
“Ugh, he’s freaking out because you did this.” Tabitha lifts her shirt, revealing Titch’s handiwork.
“Huh,” he says, leaning closer and squinting slightly. “Sure looks like mine.”
“That’s because it is, arsehole.”
“I do a lot of tats. See a lot of people. I don’t remember everyone,” he says, his arms flailing from his sides. “I don’t need to tell you all this, Zach. Now, if I may…” He gestures to the woman who’s still laid on her front on his bed, patiently waiting for him to return.
Anger swirls within me as I stare him dead in the eyes, but I can’t deny that he’s right. I don’t remember even half of whom the skin I’ve inked belongs to. Just because Tabitha is one of us now, it doesn’t mean he should have recognised her from that small tattoo.
“Fuck this.” Turning, I storm from his room and out through the kitchen so I can have a few moments to breathe.
I pace back and forth in my living room for a while, waiting for my heart to stop racing. What the fuck was that? I never lose my head over a woman. So what if Titch has inked her? It doesn’t mean anything. He’s a professional, it’s unlikely he’ll have offered any extra services, plus if he had I’m sure she’d have had something to say about it. She’s not exactly backwards in coming forwards.
I desperately want to reach for my liquor cupboard, but with an evening full of clients, I can’t very well do that.
I’m staring at the clock, knowing that I need to head back down before I piss my clients off, when a knock sounds out from the front door.
“Yeah,” I bark. My heart’s in my throat as I wait to see if it’s Tabitha’s head that’s going to pop around the dark wood to rip me a new one.
I’m relieved when the first thing I see is the shaggy dark hair of my best friend. Although, one look at his pissed-off eyes and I soon realise he might not go easy on me, either.
“Here, I sent Biff for decent coffee. Thought you might need it.”
“Need fucking more than this,” I mutter, but I accept his offer.
“It’s got a double shot.”
I sip at the coffee and regret it the second the liquid burns the top layer off my tongue.
“Karma’s a bitch, huh?” Titch asks as he watches me.
“Do we have to?”
“I really fucking think we need to, motherfucker.” He drops down onto the other end of the sofa, wisely putting his coffee on the table to allow it to cool. “Start talking.”
“Got nothing to say.” I shrug, but I know he’s not going to allow me to get away with that.
“Okay, let’s try this a different way. You fucked her yet?”
I blanch at his blunt question, but it soon pisses me off because I wouldn’t bat an eyelid if he were to ask me this about any other woman. “No,” I mutter, looking to the window to stop him reading whatever might be in my eyes. He’s a perceptive motherfucker, and I don’t need him seeing more than I’m ready to admit to myself.
“So how’d you see the tat?”
“She was changing in my room. I wasn’t a gentleman.”
“No surprise there.”
“Says Mother fucking Teresa.”
“Hey, I’m not saying I’d act any differently. So… what’s next?”
“Next, I’ve got a night full of clients. One of which is probably already downstairs waiting for me.” He nods, proving that that is the case.
“And what about Biff.”
“What about her?”
He sighs. “Zach, man. You need to start being honest with yourself, even if you can’t be with me.”
“I’m not—”
“You want her. We can all see it, and none of us can blame you. She’s hot.” My temperature begins to boil at his observation alone, telling me that I’ve got a serious issue here. “She also doesn’t put up with your shit and gives as good as she gets. At first I thought it was going to be the fun of the chase, of winning, of proving you can have her no matter what, but now, the last few days, I see it’s more than that. You want her, and not just because you can’t have her.”
By the time he’s finished his little speech, I’m on my feet and ready to run away from having to deal with it.
I swipe my coffee up and march towards the door. “I don’t want her. She’s everything I don’t want. I just want to play with her a bit, prove that women like her don’t belong in this world.”
He’s laughing as I pull the door open and step out into the enclosed hallway.
My lips twist in frustration while every part of my body screams that every word I just said is bullshit. That may well be the case, but like fuck am I going to accept it.
This is a game. A game I’m in charge of and one that I’m going to win. I’ll get her on her knees, I’ll take what I want, and then I’ll throw her back into the stuck-up, pretentious world she fell from. Her parents probably already have someone in their sights to marry their beloved daughter, and I can fucking guarantee that he doesn’t have any tattoos.
Leaving Titch behind in my flat, I make my way back down to the studio. I have every intention of walking through reception and to my room without so much as looking her way, but the second I step foot into the waiting room my eyes seem to have a mind of their own.
I glance over our clients, nodding at the one who’s patiently waiting for me before risking a look at her. The second my eyes land on her, my body freezes. She’s sitting behind the desk, one hand on the mouse, but instead of looking at the computer she’s staring right at me. Confusion and intrigue fill her eyes while she chews on her bottom lip.
Something sizzles between us before I drag my barriers back up and turn towards my next client. “You ready?”
“Sure am.”
Without a word to Tabitha, I walk towards my room to get on with my job.
It’s not until the door’s shut and Isaac is on the bed ready that he speaks. “You’re sure to get a few more clients through the door now you’ve got that hot bit of arse on the desk.”
My fingers tighten around the gun in my hand that’s about to make contact with the back of his thigh, and my teeth grind.
I suck in a few deep breaths. I can’t afford for that bitch to ruin my reputation.
“She sure helps to keep our waiting clients distracted.”
“She sure as shit does that, mate. Especially in that little skirt she’s wearing. Damn, when she bent over I almost got a shot at the—ow.”
I make a start without warning, pressing a little harder than necessary in an attempt to cut off his words. I don’t need to hear that she’s out there showing off anything. Especially not when I’m yet to see much beyond a tat on her ribs.
Trying to put her to the back of my mind, I focus on the task in hand and the amount of ink I need to lay down before I get to lock myself upstairs with just the image of his handiwork on her skin.
Motherfucker.
